


The times they are a-changin'

by MayaTL



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Fanfiction of Fanfiction, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:26:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29958870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayaTL/pseuds/MayaTL
Summary: Three weeks ago Orodreth had welcomed them with open arms in Minas Tirith, while keeping up a healthy dose of suspicion, much to Maeglin's approval. The people of Gondolin had been naive enough not to search Eöl for hidden weapons when he arrived, something both Aredhel and Maeglin would have insisted upon, had they been informed in time. Orodreth is far more reasonable. While he is overjoyed to see his distant cousins, this is also the first time since Gondolin was built that someone has been allowed to leave.Many who searched for the city simply never returned.Or:Orodreth's thoughts on the arrival of the Prince and Princess of Gondolin in Minas Tirith after 285 years of silence from The Hidden City.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 15





	The times they are a-changin'

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mangacrack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mangacrack/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Early Roman Kings](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10183835) by [mangacrack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mangacrack/pseuds/mangacrack). 



The escort from Gondolin stays for less than a day.

It’s a three week journey from Minas Tirith through the Ered Wethrin to reach Barad Eithel on good weather, longer still if they follow the more cautious path upstream of the river Sirion instead of going through the mountains. They stay just long enough to rest and restock their provisions, and to inform Orodreth of the happenings of the Hidden City, before they take their leave.

They go in the same manner that they arrived; quietly, with little fanfare at all. If they hadn’t deigned to say their farewells and thank him for his hospitality, Orodreth has a sneaking suspicion that none of his guards would have noticed their leaving, no matter how foreign a sight they made.

As it is, he stands on the Western wall of the tower and watches until they vanish into the foothills of the mountains like it’s where they belong.

 _Gondolindrim_ , he thinks with a shake of his head, and for the first time in centuries the thought is not laced wholly with bitterness. 

* * *

He is reviewing a report from one of his captains when a guard barges into his office without knocking. An easy thing to do, in hindsight, since he usually keeps his door open, but there is a difference between the messenger who casually handed him the report he’s holding now and the guard standing in the doorway with an air of distinct urgency.

“My Lord,” he says, slightly out of breath, as if he’s been running, and only just remembers to bow, “there is a small company of Elves at the gate who claim to have come from Gondolin. They insist to speak with you at once.”

Orodreth is already on his feet before his ears have processed what he’s hearing, going through the motions of someone used to receiving messengers from his uncle at the gate. He’s already halfway down the hall when the actual words sink in, and he falters mid-step. Orodreth asks the guard to repeat what he just said, which he does, a little more clearly this time.

“One of them claims to be the daughter of King Turgon, My Lord,” he says.

Orodreth takes a deep breath, orders the guard to have guest rooms prepared, and then resumes his walk to the gate at a respectable pace. He barely remembers Elenwë, as his first cousin once removed, and has met her daughter maybe once, enough to recall her name and little else, but he thinks he knows his family well enough to recognize a Princess of Vanyar descent.

And if it is true, then he intends to welcome his second cousin into Minas Tirith with open arms.

He deliberately thinks about the possible upcoming reunion and not about the implications of Turgon’s daughter showing up on Tol Sirion, well outside the protections of her father’s Hidden City.

* * *

A stable master is tending to the company’s horses by the time Orodreth enters the courtyard. There is a considerable guard placed on the gate, more so than usual, but none are being openly hostile, only alert. A few of them give him respectful nods as he walks by.

There are four Elves standing in the courtyard, dressed in light armour and travelling cloaks. When Orodreth makes his way over, two heads of Vanyar-gold and two heads of Noldor-black turn at once to face him and he has to blink for a moment, wondering if he’s seeing double.

A second glance is all he needs.

The Princess of Gondolin approaches him first, followed shortly by the Noldor with unsettlingly sharp eyes, and bows.

“Lord Orodreth,” she greets him, a little hesitantly.

They look a mirror of each other, standing face to face under the open sky, with the bright rays of Anar spilling like gold over their shoulders and the light of bygone Laurelin shining in their eyes. She has Turgon’s height and carries herself with Noldor pride, but all Orodreth sees is the spitting image of Elenwë, distant as his memory of her is.

Orodreth smiles wide enough for his cheeks to ache. “Cousin,” he says, and pulls her into a strong embrace which she immediately returns.

Neither lets go for quite some time.

* * *

Orodreth is overjoyed to meet the Prince, who looks entirely unprepared for the warm reception he receives, and can hardly contain himself when the Princess introduces him to Lord Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower, who looks like he could very well be his brother.

Ecthelion of the House of the Fountain is a Lord in every manner and a more than dutiful guard, always a step behind his Prince even when their weapons are taken away.

That Glorfindel mirrors him at the side of the Princess, close enough to touch, does not go unnoticed. While Orodreth welcomes them gladly and with all his heart, there is a shadow around them that speaks of ill news, and the source of it comes to light when they are all sequestered away in his private rooms to allow for a small measure of secrecy.

They do not come out until late in the night.

A madness has befallen the King of Gondolin. Whether this is the cruel hand of Morgoth or grief twisted beyond recognition, it matters not; he has orphaned his nephew, estranged his daughter and made Kinslayers of his people.

The Princess is quiet while she tells her tale. She is noble and her resolve is strong, but by the end she is trembling and looks younger by centuries, as if relaying these horrors to an outsider has made her relive them. The Prince has not let go of her hand ever since he first reached out to her, when the words would not come, and her grip around his fingers is white-knuckled.

Orodreth, known for his forgiving soul and steady temper, cannot look at her without seeing his own daughter, and his blood boils.

* * *

Their refusal is polite when they are offered separate guest rooms, but Orodreth can see it for what it is in the unflinching set of their shoulders. While the Princess has found a friend in his daughter, she refuses to be parted from the cousin she calls brother even for a few hours. Their two Lords likewise refuse to be separated from their charges, utterly devoted to chasing away night terrors with their presence alone.

Orodreth does not deny them this peace, even when sleep evades him that night.

He has run out of foul words to call the King of Gondolin in both Quenya and Sindarin, and three bottles of wine have not sharpened his senses. He paces the length of his rooms restlessly, trying to sort between his grief at losing a cousin whom he barely knew, outrage at witnessing the cruelty of a fellow Elf and elation at having met distant relatives he didn’t know he had.

In the end, he settles down to write a letter.

He briefly considers writing to the High King himself, but he knows where the Gondolinic escort is headed to and it’s better for the High King to learn such news from the mouths of his grandchildren than by a letter from his distant nephew. Instead Orodreth writes to his uncle Finrod, who himself rules over a hidden realm, and, after some consideration, to the eldest son and heir of the High King, Fingon.

Orodreth knows that his words mean little next to those of the High King and that his uncle Finrod will certainly speak with Fingon himself, but it’s the least he can do, aside from helping the Prince and Princess reach Barad Eithel safely. He cannot leave Minas Tirith lordless to travel with them and he could not go to Gondolin even if he knew where it was, not after hearing what has become of it.

Over breakfast, he entrusts his letter to Fingon to Lord Ecthelion, who is the only Noldor among them without any relation to the House of Finwë. The letter to his uncle he will have to send by messenger, the next time one arrives from Nargothrond.

Lord Ecthelion accepts the letter in a manner that says he will see it delivered. The Prince and Lord Glorfindel offer few words, but their gratitude is openly on display, and the Princess embraces him tightly and says nothing.

Orodreth smiles, returns her embrace and asks what provisions they will need for the journey.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
